


Falling Awake

by ao3afterdark



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Bestiality, F/M, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rite of Tranquility, and the threat of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7711837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ao3afterdark/pseuds/ao3afterdark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meredith is not impressed by Bethany Hawke's turning herself in, and has a novel solution (read: unreasonable demand) to set her own mind at ease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You can't be serious!"

Meredith finally looked up from the paperwork she had been working on since Bethany had first been ushered into her office, lifting her quill so as not to blot the page. "And what part of that sentence was unclear, mage?"

Bethany clutched at the plain apprentice robes she'd been given upon her arrival in the tower, unable even to find the breath or the words to respond to that. This had to be a joke, hadn't it? What had she ever done to earn something like this, this was- it was horrible. No one could really expect her to-

She looked up and met Meredith's eyes. They bore into her. Her tone was flat. "I'm told you turned yourself in," she said. "An interesting choice, one that has brought me no small amount of concern. I know your family's sympathies lie with the mages --our sister has made that abundantly clear-- and so I am left with the burden of deciding what must be done with a wolf in our midst, stalking amongst the flock."

"I'm not-" Bethany started, but Meredith interrupted her with a slicing motion of her hand.

"Enough. Words shall not convince me, not after everything you and your sibling have done. Consorting with known apostates and sympathizes, giving my Templars false trails to follow in pursuit of their duties. Your words ring hollow. Actions, mistress Hawke. Actions, convince me."

"Surely I can-"

"This is where you prove your dedication," Meredith said sharply. "You _will_ follow my commands to the letter. There is no alternative, not for you."

Bethany stared. Her mouth had started to tremble, to her shame, and she bit at the inside of her cheek to still it as Meredith told her to strip.

Her cheeks burning with humiliation and an anger she shoved down in a panic as soon as she recognized it, Bethany lifted shaking hands to the clasps at her throat. She fumbled at the buttons, taking long enough that Meredith made an impatient gesture.

A tranquil that Bethany had almost forgotten was there at all stepped forward. At first, Bethany drew back, thinking the tranquil --the woman, she reminded herself-- was there to forcibly remove her clothing, but she only stood there, watching Bethany with impossibly still eyes as she fumbled her way out of her clothing.

For a long moment she stood in her breastband and smalls, a trace of defiance firming her jaw as she waited for Meredith to look up from her reports. "If I must do this," she told the knight commander, "at least do me the service of not ignoring it."

"I do not take commands from you, serah," Meredith said sharply, but all the same, she put down her quill and watched as Bethany finished disrobing, quicker this time. Meredith's attendant quietly took each article of clothing and folded it neatly, with the crisp, clean lines Leandra had despaired of ever seeing from Bethany or-

_No. Don't think of her,_ Bethany reminded herself. _Not anymore. Dead women don't think of those that still walk._

There was a noise behind her. She turned, and there he was, the mabari that was a gift from a minor Ferelden lord to the knight commander. Meredith had named him Sincerity, seemed to take a particular enjoyment out of it in the coming days. At this moment, though, all Bethany knew was that she was staring down the living symbol of her home, of all that she and they had lost and had to leave behind, _who_ they had had to leave behind, sick with the knowledge that it would soon be used to debase her in the worst way. It was- it had to be on purpose. Meredith never did anything without reason, sureky. She had to know Bethany's history, know that Bethany's own sister had been chosen by a mabari very like this one, but if she did she have no sign of it, merely raised a brow until Bethany sank to her knees before the mabari.

At the angle, she could see- well. She could see it. It was- a lot bigger than she'd thought. She couldn't help staring, wondering how it would fit --surely she couldn't be expected to fit _that_ anywhere in her?-- until an impatient noise from behind her shook her out of her daze.

 

 

 

Shaking, Bethany lowered herself to brace on her elbows. "Wider," Meredith said, and, at first she didn't understand then, coloring still further, Bethany forced her knees to spread apart. She felt raw and exposed, and held her breath as Sincerity walked a circle around her, sniffing all over her.

He sniffed in her face, under her armpit and, finally, stuck his cold nose directly against her groin, earning a squeal.

"Sincerity," said Meredith firmly, "mount up!"

Mount up. Oh, maker, Bethany gasped inwardly, oh maker, this is it, help me, help me, oh help-

Sinceruty did as he was told. He mounted up. Clambered up to enfold her back completely. Something hard and slippery poked at her thighs as his hips stuttered, and then, with a low grumbling whine, Sincerity shoved that something into her.

Bethany bit back a cry with that first thrust, squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to set her mind aside like her father had always taught her to, but the rapid stuttering of Sincerity's hips against her kept bringing her back. It didn't feel like everyone said sex was supposed to. The friction was there, but-

She felt sick. Used. A wild, choked noise built up in her throat, coming out as a high note that made the mabari, Sincerity, bark, made his cock twitch inside her. The movement sparked off of something inside her, wringing out a gasp. Her hips bucked.

"Harder, Sincerity," came Meredith's voice from somewhere above them. The dog obeyed at once, ramming in hard enough that Bethany cried out. That spark of _something_ was gone, leaving nothing in its place but a hollow feeling that was quickly filled up with disgust. At Meredith, the dog, and the situation, but most of all herself. Always, ever herself.

And all the while, Meredith and the tranquil woman watched. The knowledge made her want to run, to hide, to be swallowed up by the floor and never return, but it also brought a curious bloom of warmth in her gut that she didn't want to examine further. That she desperately shoved away, far away, burying it in the same place that she had tried to bury all of her own wants and needs for years, watered with tears and sweat and blood, joined now by the thought of what her sister's face would look like, seeing her here like this, being fu- _mating_ with a dog, like a mongrel bitch in an alley.

Bethany wretched, bent over her folded hands and whispered a prayer to Andraste, begging to know how she had failed her that she was to be subjected to this.

"You were born, mistress Hawke." Said, to Bethany's surprise, the tranquil and not Meredith. "You must be cleansed of your sins. This is to be your path. Walk it."

 

 

*****

 

And thus began a new routine for Bethany and Meredith's prize mabari, a creature prized more than Bethany herself was, or had ever been (maybe this was at it should be, whispered a traitorous voice, maybe this was Meredith's way of putting her in her place): whenever and wherever they were, Bethany was expected to service Sincerity.

She had opportunity to figure out exactly what that meant that very afternoon.

The first time Sincerity snuffled at her robe skirts, picked them up in his teeth and tugged, Bethany did her best to ignore it, hoping his- his _urge_ would ebb and go away, but he was insistent, and the chill memory of the utterly flat way that Meredith had explained exactly what was done with mutinous mages made Bethany drop to her knees.

The apprentices and workers milling about the courtyard paused to stare. Murmurs broke out as she hiked up her skirts around her waist, and, worse, laughter. Unshed tears burned her eyes as she bent, presenting herself to the mabari, doing her best not to look out at the crowd as Sincerity mounted her.

The first time had been uncomfortable, but she hadn't expected _this_ , hadn't expected the bright stab is pain that made her cry out and jerk away. Sincerity growled and bore down on her, forcing her down until her chil collided with the cobbles as he forced his way in her ass.

Bethany screamed, or tried to, but the pain had stolen her breath away, and she could only sob as Sincerity pushed deeper. It _hurt_ , oh it hurt, more than breaking her arm had. It took everything she had not to lash out at the mabari. Her fingers flexed on a spell she had cast a thousand times before, but Sincerity seemed to know what she was about --not surprising, she would later think ruefully, mabari were renowned as the most intelligent of creatures-- and withdrew from her only to push back in, jolting all thoughts from her head.

He sank in easier this time, the muscles of her hole loosened by the first intrusion, but still, it seemed to take forever until his cocked was fully sheathed. He paused for a moment, panting, and then he pulled back, swift, with a high, artless noise from Bethany, only to plunge back in.

His growls mingled with her noises, small cries muffled into the flesh of her palm as she bit down. Distantly, she could hear noises around her, the din of chatter, and knowing that her humiliation was being witnessed added an entirely new layer to what was already shaping up to be one of the worsen experiences of her life.

Again and again he thrust in her, a steady rhythm that beat with the pounding of her heart. With every stroke, Sincerity's cock brought her folds rubbing up against her clit, a sensation that gradually eased the tight knit in her chest. That feeling she had felt back in Meredith's office was back, that tingle in the base of her spine, but before she had time to figure out what it was Sincerity's hips had started to jerk, a signal that Bethany was already becoming well familiar with, knowing he was close to completion, and so he was, she could feel his seed spurt inside her and start to run down her legs with every thrust.

She relaxed, thinking he was done, but instead of withdrawing he was- he was growing _bigger_ somehowBethany swore. It came out a gasp hissed between her teeth as she braced herself on her elbows.

"Bethany?"

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Bethany's snapped up and, yes, there was her sister, serah Hawke, lady now, her mouth open in mingled horror and surprise, but no more than Bethany felt. She started to reply, to try to come up with something, anything, but Sincerity had started to rock against her again, gentler this time, eking out a small sound Bethany couldn't help, no more than she could help her sob when her sister turned around and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Bethany drew herself what scraps of dignity remained to her about herself as she pushed herself to her feet after Sincerity had finally dismounted. The struggle to hold back tears kept her head up high as she went about her business, and if her hands trembled or her every muscle stood out in sharp relief with the urge to chase after her sister, who would notice? They were too busy staring at the stains on her robe, the scuffs on her chest where claws had ripped embroidery, to notice such petty details. 

Sincerity bounced at her heels, an eager pup, but any comfort she might have taken in his presence was spoiled by the seed trickling down her thighs. 

She took refuge from the whispers in the library, but even there she was not to have any peace. 

"Did you hear-"

"Did you see-"

Whenever eyes met hers, there came eager laughter as her fellow apprentices traded rumors about that scene in the courtyard. Bethany shrunk back, struggling to pull up a smile that cracked and broke apart upon meeting the air as soon as the click of nails across the stone reached her ears. 

Fleeing to one of the quieter corners of the library, the section on dry discourse about the different factions, Bethany settled into one of the low slung chair lining the shadowed nooks between the shelves. 

Her thighs slid against each other as she sat in a way that made her stomach leap up into her throat with a lurch. Giving a low, despairing cry, Bethany pulled her arms over her head and wept.

It was the first time in years she had allowed herself the luxury of crying, and it seemed to go on forever. Every time the tears started to slow, she had only to think on the slow drop of her sister's eyes or turn just slightly to look at where Sincerity lolled near the fire for them to start up again. 

What would father think of her, she wondered, or, with a pang, Carver. It had been a year since his death --a year!-- and still she caught herself turning to tell him what was going on in her life. She was desperate to know what he would have made of all this. Hoped he would have understood, would have been able to come up with a solution, some way to escape this nightmare, but knew, in her heart, that there was none. That he was dead. Carver was dead, and she was the --she scrabbled for the proper word for her new role in life, but came up short, finally settled on prostitute-- prostitute for a mabari. 

 

 

 

Unbidden, the thought that her first time had been with a dog, a thought she had tried as hard as she might to shove away, rose to the surface, and her face twisted in misery as fresh tears streaked down her dirty face. Bethany had always known she would never have the normal life her family wanted for her. Never have a secure home, never marry or have children --she loved her parents, but only had to look at her own life for evidence of what would lie in store for any children, and had buried them one by one in her mind until the ground was unbroken and difficult to return to, or so she had thought-- but she had hoped, at least, for the romance Mother had spoken of with a wistful turn to her mouth her first time, but-

"Heavy thoughts, Hawke?" 

Bethany gave a start, surprised out of her thoughts the templar sitting down across from her. Cullen, she remembered his name was, and her heart gave another lurch at a templar, and him of all people, knowing if her disgrace, and, yes, there was that tug to his brows. 

Bethany stood with a clatter, shoving her chair back, halted only by his hand on hers. 

"Hawke-"

"Hawke is my sister," Bethany said, trying for sharpness, but it came out tight with something else entirely, and she was horrified to find tears pricking at her eyes again. She quickly turned away, but not before Cullen could see, see and rise to his feet with something pinching his brows that made her swallow down a wild laugh. "And you don't have to feign sympathy, I know you all think it's so- so funny-" 

"If I'm feigning anything," he said slowly,  "it's that I'm not-"

"Disgusted?"

"Wha- no! No! Mistress Hawke, I-"

Bethany left before he could finish, almost at a run. She was almost more afraid of what she would hear if she stayed ran she was of what would happen when she wasn't against the protection of a chair. 

*****

 

 

 

Meredith had required that she sleep in the nude, on the off chance that Sincerity required her _services_ during the night, a thought that sent shivers racing up and down her spine, pebbling her flesh with goosebumps and making her uncomfortably aware of herself in a way that she usually was not. 

_He's just a dog,_ she reminded herself, and tried to force herself calm at the click of claws as Sincerity came trotting into the room bearing one of his favorite toys -- _besides myself_ , she thought sourly-- a twist of rawhide, which he let drop as he gave a happy bark when he saw her, stub of a tail wagging. The rawhide toy skidded across smooth stone and rolled under the bed. Sighing, Bethany bent to retrieve it. 

While she was searching under the bed there came a snuffling and a familiar weight settled over her back, bearing her chest down towards the floor. A cold fist clenched tight around her heart in an instant, near strangling her. She pulled away without thought, and, growling, Sincerity yanked her back, forelegs settled on either side of her breasts, claws scraping lightly at her chest as he started to move. 

The angle of his first thrust was different, wrong. Rather than entering her as he had before, his cock slid along her folds and pushed up against a spot that made Bethany tense with a small sound she muffled between the press of her teeth into the flesh of her lower lip. Sincerity did it again, kept on doing it, a steady rhythm that stole her breath away and gave back a dizzying rush. 

To her shame and horror Bethany found herself pressing back into his movements, try as she might to hold herself still, and worse yet was the warmth spreading out from her core. Her whole body seized up, and when next Sincerity thrust it was a smooth glide. His cock moved across her cunt with a profane, awful wet sound, one she didn't understand, but what she did understand was the breathless sound, a gasping thing that scraped at her throat on the way out as she scrabbled at the floor when he hit that bundle of nerves again and again.

 

 

 

Her legs fell open of their own accord. In the space of an instant Sincerity closed his teeth upon the back of her neck, readjusted himself, and pushed inside her.

A loud moan tore itself out of her throat, surprising her. It only seemed to spur Sincerity on to greater efforts. He set a bruising pace, wringing out whimpering cries that shuddered through her. Her slick spurted out every time he slammed home, coating her thighs. The air was thick with the smell of musk and sex and something that made her raise her rear up higher. The changed angle was- 

_Fuck._

Bethany wailed. The entire world had narrowed down to sensation and movement. Later, she would have the time to be horrified at herself, disgusted, but now? Now she was a creature of need. If she stopped moving she would crack and fly apart at the seams, held together only by Sincerity, by his weight -Maker, even that made her shiver now-- and his teeth and his cock. 

It was over within the space of two minutes, leaving Bethany panting, trembling in the verge of orgasm and feeling horrified, both at what had just happened and her own response, as well as the strange twist of disappointment that it was over so soon, but surely that was-

Bethany gasped. She didn't know the word 'knotting' but was becoming intimately familiar with what that meant, with a twist in her gut that accompanied the sensation of Sincerity's growing even larger within her. He had been still for only a moment or two, resting, the weight of him flush against her back forcing  her down against the scratchy wool rug. She flushed at the feeling of it scraping across her now sensitive nipples and gingerly tried to push herself upright, only for Sincerity to start moving again. 

 

 

 

This time, knotted still, his every move made her cry out, clenching around him. Sincerity growled approval and slammed home, tearing a loud cry out of Bethany, and then another, and another. She pushed back into his every thrust, moaning. All thought was driven out of her, everything but the need to move and move and move again, coupled with the tight heat coiling at the base of her spine that expanded and released with every roll of her hips. 

Her legs fell open wider, something that Sincerity growled at, that made him shove himself up high against her back. This time when he sank in her sparks exploded across the backs of her eyes like qunari fireworks. Bethany released a shuddering sob on the exhale. 

He hit that spot again and again, wringing out sobbing cries. Bethany met his every thrust. She felt herself dangling on the edge of some sort of precipice, begging in a high, wordless whimper, and then she was tipping over it with a sharp cry, her whole body seizing up in tight shuddering waves that radiated out from her core and made the whole world white out at the edges. 

When she came back to herself she was half collapsed onto her elbows, and Sincerity was pulling out of her with a shockingly obscene pop. There followed a trickle of cool moisture down her legs. Bethany's face drew down in misery and she curled in on herself with a rough, broken sob that tore and bled. 

She wasn't sure how long she lay like that. Long enough that Sincerity now lay twitching in sleep by the fire, making the occasional small yip. Bethany watched him dully. For a brief moment, the space of a thousand years and several seconds, she considered killing him in his sleep, be rid of him, and her fingers actually arched to begin a fire spell, the first she'd ever learned, but the knowledge of the inevitable consequences, stayed her hands as well as, more damningly, a reluctance to harm a mabari, even one such as Sincerity. 

Turning her back to him, Brthany climbed wearily into bed and fell into an uneasy sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dreams came to her, or she to them. No matter what else changed in her life, they always took the same face.

Tonight, Carver sat with his back against the gnarled apple tree that bore father's remains among its branches, as per chasind tradition, or would, in the future. But not yet. Carver was still spindly and gap toothed, a boy of nine, with the whole world waiting for him to take it by the hand, or so it had seemed at the time. _"Don't you want this to end?"_ Carver asked, face flushed with all the frustration he had always bore at her reluctance to engage in confrontation, her need to hide and shrink where he had always felt stifled by their lives, what they had turned his life into, where he had only wanted to grow.

He turned with Bethany, who rolled over in her sleep and onto her belly. The blankets had gotten wrapped up around her legs and bared a smooth expanse of tawny skin that Sincerity, who had roused at the sound of her distress and had come over to investigate, nudged with his nose and a bass noise that lurked on the edge of a rumbling growl.

Blood had started to trickle down onto Carver's eyes, thick and black and terrible. _"Don't you want to change things?"_

Bethany lifted hands still unmarked by pain to cast a spell to heal him but she didn't know them, because she was still only a little girl and didn't know them yet, would learn them because of this day, because of him.

_"Don't you want to be able to look at father with pride?"_

Sincerity nosed at the joining of her legs. Bethany's frown fell open on a soundless note that shivered and split upon meeting the air, even as Sincerity split her folds with his tongue and pressed it inside. Her hips followed after him as he withdrew, a soft whine building in her throat that fell away as she twisted, burying her face deeper into the pillow, gripping it tight to prevent herself from entangling her fingers with Carver's in the dream, though she knew full well that it was not Carver, had never been, and had her doubts that this was a dream at all. Or was the waking world the dream…?

She hesitated, fingers curling towards her palm, as a shadow at her back readjusted itself. She jerked with a cry, both in the Fade and out. In the waking world she pressed her upper body in the mattress on the exhale, a bone deep shudder running through her in a wave that warmed her through as Sincerity’s tongue ran down and up and down her folds again, pausing on each upturn to nose at where her clit peeked from beneath its hood. Her hips had started to rock against him, seemingly of their own accord, and in the Fade Bethany wavered, suddenly uncertain, beset by a bewildering multitude of sensations that crept in on her concentration.

 

 

 

Sensing weakness, Carver pressed, _“I know you, Bethany, I know you can’t be content with how things have turned out, no matter what you might tell our dear sister,”_ he said, stressing the ‘dear’ in that way he had that carried with it it- not scorn, but thick with a tumultuous flurry of emotions that was so familiar it ached, that made her take a step closer to Carver. It was becoming difficult to remember why this was something she’d fought against so hard. This was Carver. This was home.

Every step she took was echoed by a swipe of Sincerity’s tongue. He had planted his legs on either side of hers. Lipped at her clit and drew it into his mouth, dragging his tongue over it in a steady tattoo that made the bottom of her stomach drop out and keep going. She was breathing heavily now, arching restlessly, hovering on the verge of- of waking? Of something for which she didn’t have a name? All she was aware of was the warm, welcoming light in Carver’s eyes flickering from banked coals to an open flame of the purest purple pools that she felt dizzied looking at, like she would fall into them forever if she let go. Hadn’t someone said something like that to her, once?

Hadn’t Carver’s eyes been blue? The thought was nagging, distant. She pushed it away and it kept coming back, scratching at the walls of her mind. Irritated, she turned her head sharply to the side, and stilled when she caught sight of the shadow, deep and dark and endless. It looked like a-

She was overcome, suddenly, with wave after wave of sensation that near knocked her off her feet. She pressed a hand to her chest, breathing hard. This felt like-

Another wave hit her, this one very definitely coming from between her legs, where before it had been too big, too much, too too everything for her to center in on it, but now it was impossible to think on anything else. She folded up and dropped to her knees, pressing a hand between her legs, desperate to abate it. She gasped, head shooting up as she gave a shout and started to seize up, all the world whiting out at the edges, narrowing down to her hand and the pool of warmth that bloomed and pulsed beneath her fingers, expanding in uneven ripples that wrung her dry and gasping, clinging to the ground, as if out of fear that it would come flying apart at the seams, too.

She was still shivering through the aftershocks when Sincerity moved, scratching red lines in her skin as he pulled her back until her lower half was braced on her knees and mounted her, the long, tapered end of his penis glistening and trembling in the low light of the fire.

_"I always wanted a mabari,"_ Carver smiled. Bethany snatched her hand away, coming awake just as Sincerity slid into her in one long thrust.

Bethany's breath left her all in a rush. Her next rasping scrabble for air was almost painful, cracked and cracking upon leaving the ruin of her. She scrabbled at the blankets as Sincerity withdrew with a wet noise and an electric thrill that made her mouth fall open soundlessly just as he shoved back in. Bethany moaned helplessly, hopelessly, her every nerve set ablaze.

 

 

 

She could feel her slick starting to drip down between her legs, and to her shame that had a thrill of its own in this moment, had her reach a hand between her legs, just to feel it, and came brushing up against her clit. Bethany went rigid in shock before she gave an all over shudder that wracked her down to her toes and wrung out an obscene sound she hadn't known she was capable of. Was this what-?

Sincerity drove in again, slamming his hips against her ass and bringing her hand bumping up against the mattress and so driving a sudden pressure against her clit. Bethany couldn't help the sounds she was making now, shameless things that, contrary to making her still in horror as it would at any other time, now it drove her on. She rubbed tentative fingers against her clit just as Sincerity started to speed up, setting a rhythm she could not hope to match but that her hips rose to meet. She twisted helplessly, unable to remain still, and tossed her head back and forth on the pillow, long curls tangling among her fingers, bright sparks of pain that flared and died in the waves of sensation. Her head came to rest facing the door and saw a long shadow cast from the other side move across the floor. Someone was there. Had been, for who knew how long, was listening to her-

Bethany gave a low, despairing cry that emerged a wail as she felt Sincerity grow still larger, the usual signal that he was done, at least for now, but he didn't stop, and indeed sped up. The bed creaked a steady metronome. Andraste alone knew what the person outside thought of all this, or why the knowledge of being watched made her writhe on the bed, trying to both curl away from and press closer to Sincerity’s every thrust. Beads of sweat rolled down the long line of Bethany's throat and between her heaving breasts. "Don't," she rasped. "Don't stop."

But he was, had. Bethany let out a whine and shifted, trying to recapture that feeling, and gasped when the movement of her hips dragged his cock within her. She started to slowly move her hips on her own, working herself against him. Every slight shift sent sparks up her spine, and she dropped her head as she felt herself clench tight around him in time to her shuddered breaths, felt every inch of the slow pull of his cock as she moved it in and out of her, too caught up in it all to care what she was doing, she didn't care, didn't care.

The only thing she cared about was that one of the only times she was able to let herself go, to just feel good and not have to be _her_ for five minutes, was right here, right now, and if she was lost in it, she went willingly, hating herself all the while, but if there was one thing she knew now, it was that hate and arousal could become so intertwined it was impossible to tell which was which. That hate was never so strong as that which drove it on. She wasn’t.

Sincerity nuzzled at the back of her neck as she bent to her efforts. She stiffened in anticipation, could not help to low sob as his teeth settled in either side of her neck and squeezed. Gently at first, then with increasing force, until it hovered just on the edge of too much. She swallowed down a gasp, her mouth falling open on its lack, shaking, The warmth in her belly, which had faded when she had slowed to a stop rekindled with a roar. If she’d been standing she would have staggered. Please. She almost said it. It hovered on the tip of her tongue.

 

 

 

She wasn’t sure why she didn’t say it, pride having long since flown away on swift wings, save that it felt like the last link she still had to her old life, the way things had been, had always been meant to be, except they weren’t, had never been, and she clutched at the space they’d once filled like an old wound.

He closed still harder, and Bethany flew apart. She arched, back bowing as she shook, her every muscle gone tense as a bowstring. She was crystal and she was shattering, she thought, wildly, and sobbed as the world went white.

She came back to herself gradually and all at once. Fell back, struggling for panted breaths. Her head had fallen into the ruin the clenching of fisted hands had made of the blankets. She lifted it now, looking almost without thought towards the door, but the shadow was gone, as if it had never been. Bethany didn’t know why that made her gut clench.


	4. Chapter 4

Bethany longed to remain in bed long past the hour she would have arisen was she still free, bedclothes drawn up over her head to block out the encroaching sunlight that signaled yet another day in --not a cage, a cage implied even a degree of freedom that she did not possess; perhaps a closer word was collar, locked tight around her throat to impede all movement but that which her jailers approved of, demanded-- but Sincerity stirred against the back of her knees, where he always somehow seemed to end up no matter where he first chose as his spot for the evening.

She tried her best to ignore him for as long as she could, turned her face away from him and curled into a tighter ball. The dried evidence of her shame flaked on her thighs as she moved, a sickening reminder of what her life had become. What _she_ had become. What had she done? Rutted freely against him like- like a bitch in heat, the words hurled her way in Kirkwall streets now loomed large and real. She’d rutted with a dog, had _wanted_ to. Unbidden, memories of the night before rose, bringing with it the taste of acid that sat heavy in her mouth. She gagged, lurched out of bed and over to the chamberpot just in time to dry heave, bringing up nothing but wretched sobs that wracked her frame. She wanted to die. To go home, but then, she’d never had one, had she? Certainly not Gamlen’s hovel, nor Lothering. Home had been her sister and mother, had been-

Her throat closed up and she hunched over, gasping through her nose. Even here in the relative privacy of her room, a room she couldn’t ever forget had been granted her purely for Sincerity’s sake, not her own, she didn’t dare give voice to the wails fighting for space on the edge of her tongue. If she did, she wouldn’t ever stop. She brought her hand over her face, the other comin round to clutch at her belly. Was this what life was going to hold for her, forever? Had she saved her family from herself only to doom herself to- she knew how long manari lived. She had fifteen, maybe twenty years with Sincerity to look forward to, every day filled with- with _that_ , with him, with laughter and pointing fingers and templars, her father’s killers, breathing down her neck with every exhale. What little freedom she’d enjoyed was gone forever, replaced with this sickening farce at it, and. This was what she’d chosen. She’d looked at her options and decided that this was better for her family than the burden of living with fear, with her, and now she had to live with that choice, until the day she died.

Bethany started to sob, small, ragged things muffled into the tight press of her lips, shaking with the effort it took not to open her mouth and cry out around the shape of the tearing, scraping wound deep in her chest, but every attempt at breath struck her dizzy. Her fingers pressed reddened half moons into the flesh around her mouth, the dull pinprick pain slowly bring her back from the verge of some deep and darkening hole that yawned in her gut, waiting for the first unwary step, that and a whine at her back, one she gradually became aware had been going on for some time. Sincerity. He nosed at her.

Bethany shivered, stiffening in her loose sprawl, but he merely danced in place, whining, his wants clear. “I’m coming,” she groaned, rising on unsteady legs, and reached for her robe. It was cold against her bare skin, prickling the way her old clothes never had, but then, the circle robes were mass produced by the combined efforts of the tranquil and the factories, where mother always had- Bethany swallowed, hard. Leandra wasn’t her mother, anymore. She had no mother. Wasn’t that the rule? They were all orphans, here in the circle, weren’t they?

 

 

 

She tried to force the thoughts away as she started out of the dormitories and towards the courtyard, Sincerity bounding at her heels, but they refused to be dislodged, driving away all else as she walked Sincerity around the perimeter of the courtyard, smothering yawns into the fall of her sleeve. The tranquil and templars were already up and about, even at this chilly pre-dawn hour, and she forced herself to smile and nod at each, though it warmed by degrees for the tranquil. Tranquility as an idea, a threat, still made her blood run cold, but she couldn’t hold that against the tranquil themselves. they made her uncomfortable, but only in relation to herself, the ever looming threat hanging over her head of Meredith’s displeasure, whether for failing to- to _satisfy_ Sincerity or, indeed, that of her own impending harrowing. It was soon. That was all she knew. They wouldn’t tell her when, in case she spooked and ran. Even now, the thought of purposely facing demons, with the threat of possession or a sword at her throat upon failure, made dread curl in her gut.

Sincerity had finally chosen a spot to do his business, against the side of one of the tranquil’s stalls, and Bethany waited, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth in a vain attempt to hold back the urge to made a sound, any sound, to hint at her distress. There were no templars within hearing range, and the tranquil wouldn’t care one way or another, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t report it to someone who would, if asked. There were ears everywhere in the gallows. It was impossible to forget. And if you did, all it took was a glance at the graven images in bas-relief upon the walls to remind yourself that they might walk where they wished within its walls, but they were hardly free. She heaved in a breath and tried to compose herself, with some limited success, and managed some semblance of a smile at Anette, one of the templars assigned to guard the tranquil. Often, “guarding the tranquil” had overtones that even she, new to the circle, had heard dark rumors of, but Anette had always struck her as, if nothing else, reasonable, and her helm tilted in greeting as Bethany and Sincerity walked back to the dormitories.

A letter was waiting for her on her bed. Even through the envelope, which had been opened and resealed, she could see the thick black streak of censored words. She couldn’t read it, not right away, not in her frame of mind. if she did, she’d only be inclined to break down crying, at best, and she had things to do today. She wouldn’t be a burden, not now or ever, not again.

It wasn’t until long past the eight o’clock hour was called in the evening before she finally opened the letter. _Bethany,_ it read, in a familiar, impatient scrawl that made her throat seize up, _mother’s been asking after you. I told her you were settling in well_ Bethany had to pause there, a wild laugh near tearing itself free of her throat, continuing only once her hands stopped shaking enough for the words to be legible, _and that you were unharmed. I’ll be returning to the courtyard every other day-_

_”What?”_ Bethany’s breath near left her entirely. She glanced at the date of the letter. It was from almost three weeks ago. It took time for letters to make it through the gallow’s censors, if they made it through at all. The fact that she got them at all was a privilege, she often told, but- three weeks ago? And she’d been here every other day? But-Bethany didn’t remember ever seeing her sister, not since that first day. She’d call it disastrous, but really, all that separated it from any other was that her sister had borne witness to at least some of what had happened. She shuddered to think of how much. Enough. Swallowing thickly, threw the letter down on her bedside and nearly ran from her room. _I’m being silly _,__ she reprimanded herself, but that didn’t help the fist seizing tight round her heart, or the urge that drove her out into the hall and away from the letter, as if it were a darkspawn, an ogre, such as the one that-

 

 

 

Bethany sobbed, slippers slapping against the stone as she hurried through the halls, paying not the least bit of attention to where she was going, wishing only to put distance between herself and the damning words staring back at her.

She turned a corner and fetched straight up against a templar. He was unarmored, but still large, and she bounced off his chest, staggering back, wide eyed. There was a door behind him, and through it, she could see the glint of metal and bearded faces. She’d run straight into templar territory, one of the barracks. The beginnings of panic clawed at her mind, roaring into fullness when the templar closed his hand about her forearm. She started to babble, apologizing, saying anything she could to try to get out of the situation she’d found herself in, but was unresisting when he started to tug her into the barracks. What would be the point of resisting? She shrunk still further with a sinking feeling when she heard the familiar click of claws. Sincerity. He’d followed her. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she hadn’t even noticed him following her. She didn’t dare turn around to look at him, not with --she counted-- six templars standing in the room and starting to gather. She swallowed down the urge to scream or cry or fling a spell and backed up, as far as the hand tight around her wrist allowed.

Someone made a sound that might have been a laugh, close enough she jumped, and she turned, uncertain at first to see that he wasn't looking at her, followed his gaze to Sincerity, who'd started to sniff about her robes. Her heart quailed. _Oh, no. No, no, no no no, not here, anywhere but here,_ but it was and he was. Bethany tried to back away, to get into the hallway, at least, eyes widening in growing fear, but the way was blocked by walls of solid muscle and smiles. “I thought i recognized you,” someone said, and Bethany backed up against the solid bulk of, not a templar, but Sincerity. He was growling now, the low rumble that preceded a bark, and Bethany shivered. He’d never bitten her before, but there was always a first time, and even if he didn’t the bark could not fail to bring even more attention down on her, and she had more than enough now, more than enough to-

Sincerity barked, once, sharp and loud, making her jump. She started to sob, low and wretching, as she dropped to her knees. Was shaking as pulled up the skirts of her robe to bare herself, eyes pressed shut tight so she wouldn’t have to see the expressions of the templars standing around her, but she could hear them easily enough. Hear the laughter and comments about how eager she was for her lover and, strangest of all, the rustling of cloth.

Sincerity was on her at once, the sheer weight of him bearing her down towards the floor. He sought for her cunt for moment, making her shiver at the sensation of his hardness shifting between her legs, and then he was shoving in, driving all of the air out of her in a rush. This time, that first push within her wrung out a hitched breath and a shuddering clutch of her hands on the stone beneath her, and she didn’t know why, didn't question it. It felt so good, so good. She tried to hold still, whining low in her throat and shaking with the effort. The next thrust brought her legs falling open, and she colored at the low whistle that brought from the circle of templars. She didn’t know why that made her throat clamp down tight around a moan, no more than she knew why it made her hips leap of their own accord.

 

 

 

A laugh. Fingers at her jaw, pulling her up higher. Bethany gasped at even that touch, eyes flying open. She was soaked with sweat and straining against Sincerity, whining low in her throat, almost didn’t notice the movement as a hand reached out, not until there came a rending of cloth as it snagged in the neckline of her robe, tearing it wide and baring her to the waist. The sound was startlingly loud in the confined space, ragged as her heaving attempts for breath that thrust out her chest in a way that drew loud and vocal approval, amid laughter. Her breasts swung with every thrust, full and heavy and tipped with darkened peaks that pebbled beneath their gaze. The sensation was- Bethany whined again, a high, thin sound that did nothing for her pride, spread blooming russet across fawn colored cheeks streaked through with lighter colored skin like dappled sunlight.

Bending, she braced herself on the floor and pushed back, gasping when her own slick spattered her as Sincerity pounded against and within her. Every roll of his hips brought her trembling to life, more than she ever was outside of it, had ever been, it always felt in these moments. This was the only freedom she’d ever truly had, and she reveled in it, stretched in one long shudder from her head to her toes that brought her head up to see the templars. Bethany let loose a low noise, staring, unable at first to comprehend what she was seeing. The templars were gathered close, and they were-

Distantly, there came the knowledge that this would be but one more regret that would be well thumbed in the days to come, but caught as she was in the throes of need, Bethany couldn’t bring herself to look away from the slow pump of hands over cocks, one after another. It was exciting, being watched and watching in turn. She finally allowed herself to admit that, if only in the silence of her own mind. Allowed herself to twist, mouth dropping open around the shape of an inarticulate noise of desire as she arched towards them and away from Sincerity. He growled and bore down, pulling her back into his next thrust. She cried out, loud and artless, thick with desire, near shaking with it.

Quick as a flash, a hand snaked out and and seized her jaw, prising her mouth open wide, wider, and fed a cock into her mouth. It tasted musty, thick and and heavy on her tongue, and twitched as she ran her tongue experimentally along the underside, wringing out a harsh noise. The templar pushed up and farther into her mouth, cursing fervent as a prayer.

Bethany gagged almost at once, couldn’t help it. She’d never done this before. The closest she’d ever come had been seeing a glimpse of a man on his knees out behind the Hanged Man once, and Isabela’s books, of course, giggling and blushing, and this was. So different. The hand at her jaw and Sincerity at her back wouldn’t let her withdraw. Every time she lurched back it was only to impale herself further on Sincerity’s cock. Bethany moaned around the templar, earned an approving noise and a hand tight in her hair, a moaned, “Yes, yes, fuck, just like that,” and other inanities that in that moment made up all the sound in the world except for Sincerity’s harsh panted breaths and the wet slap of skin against skin. Bethany shivered, clenching tight around Sincerity’s next thrust and earning herself a growl that rumbled through where they were pressed together. The templar laughed unsteadily about puppies, jolting Bethany back into the present and out of the dim world of sensation and movement with an almost audible thud.

 

 

 

She started to struggle, almost without thought. This only enflamed the templar further. He moaned, tightening his hand in her hair, and hauled her down hard, forcing his cock deep until it hit the back of her throat. Bethany gagged again, harder, involuntary tears springing into her eyes, and heaved, trying to expel him, to laughter. The other templars egged him on and, grunting, he started to fuck her mouth fast and rough.

Bethany started to panic. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. Spots burst across her vision as Sincerity started to speed up, nearing completion, and even now she couldn’t help her body’s rising to meet him, couldn’t help spreading her legs until the bones in her hips creaked. His cock made fire race in her loins, turned everything into sound and motion and desperation.

The templar pumped lazily into and out of her mouth, pulling out until just the head of his cock brushed her lips, giving her just enough time to draw in a swift breath before plunging back in, again and again. He kept up a steady stream of noise, grunts and chatter, “that’s it, whore, take it all”s and “fuck, fuck, look at you”s and such similar things that she tried to pay no mind to but that made that slow curl of warmth in her belly flare higher, that, in combination with the steady, relentless pull of Sincerity’s cock within her, made her moan around him. He moaned unison as her throat vibrated around him, his strokes starting to falter. That was her only warning before he pulled out of her mouth and started to come all over her face, his cock pulsing as it shot thick streams of milky white into her hair and eyes. She jerked back, raised a hand to wipe at her eyes, only for it to be seized and wrapped around another cock, a powerful hand locked around hers like an iron bar that kept her from pulling away. A groan filled her ears, and then he, too, was coming, spurting down across her breasts even as Sincerity started to jerk and whine against her, signaling his own release.

Bethany shuddered. Her every breath came with difficulty, strained through sobs and gritted teeth. Claws dug against her breasts, tugging her tight against him as he started to jerk. Warmth flooded her loins as he started to come. She couldn’t help the whimper that tore out between unwilling lips, no more than she could help pressing back into him with every uneven, stuttering thrust, even as he slowed to a stop, sobbing as his cock thickened within her. “Looks like the Ferelden bitch wants more,” someone laughed as Bethany sagged onto her forearms, gasping, when Sincerity finally withdrew, already feeling achingly empty.

More hands reached for her now. Yanked her upright, up to her feet. There was a ring of templars around her now, half or entirely naked. Someone --J something, she thought, Jrah or Jax-- pulled her flush against him. His hardness prodded at her cunt, wringing out a whimper. Bethany arched, trying both to press into and away from it, succeeding only in rubbing herself against the bare cock at her back. It was thick, thicker than Sincerity, and rubbed along her swollen folds. Bethany moaned helplessly and arched, rubbing her breasts against the templar before her and pushed back, seeking that friction. Ugly laughter at her ear, and hands smoothing over the swell of her hip, tugging her back onto the thick tip. The templar pushed slowly inside, even as did the one at her front, side by side and together. It was too much and not enough. Bethany cried out, in pain and in pleasure. “Not enough to fuck a dog, is it, Ferelden, you have to pant for it like one, too.” She couldn’t find it in herself to argue, to do anything but seek out more, and more and more, drop her hand to-

 

 

 

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Everything went still. Bethany shook, breathing hard. Looked up and through the ring of men to see knight captain Cullen. He, too, was shaking, his face red, reddening still further when there came a growl at her ear, deep as Sincerity’s, if not deeper, and the templar at her back pulled her down still further onto his cock until she was fully seated on him. Bethany’s head lolled back on a wordless cry, cracked and cracking, and Cullen froze, long enough for one, two, smooth pumps of the templar’s cock, splitting her wide and open. Her legs rose, unbidden, and the templars wasted no time in seizing them and hauling them up around the waist of the templar before her. The changed angle made her stiffen and scrabble at the templar’s chest, breathing harsh, sobbing attempts for air that scraped her throat raw.

“I asked a question.” Cullen’s voice was flat. Quiet. Dangerous. She didn’t know what he was doing or where he was looking, didn’t care, her whole world narrowed down to the the cocks and hands and eyes on her, whimpered when they stilled, one by one. “Who here has an explanation.”

“C’mon knight captain,” someone says. The cock from behind is still moving, slick and hard and making her whimper again, burying her face against the chest before her, tightening her legs and cunt and hands. “Its a perk, you know that, and besides, she came to us, she-”

“I will have _discipline_ ,” Cullen said softly. “regardless of- that is what leave is for, gentlemen. Put the mage down and return to your bunks. Now.”

There was silence, then, one by one, the templars moved away, the one at her front setting her none too gently on the floor. The one at her back was the last to disengage from her. His hands had come down to settle where her waist met her hips, gripping her tight, seemingly and obviously reluctant to let go. His hips still moved in slow increments, burying himself deep within her, and she let loose a strangled noise that made Cullen’s eyes narrow. “I said _now_.”

For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t listen, then at last the templar withdrew from her, slowly, making Bethany arch and arch her toes with inch after delicious inch. “Next time, I’ll make sure we aren’t interrupted,” he whispered huskily in her ear, and then he was gone, leaving her cold and empty and unsatisfied.

She wavered on her feet, clutching at her robe as it settled around her feet, bringing with it a slow, cold realization that rose up her stomach to her throat. It felt something like guilt and everything like shame. “Knight captain,” she whispered, the words ashes in her mouth. Shrunk away from his hand when he offered it, cold rising in her throat like a gorge. “Don’t-!”

A shuttered looked passed across his face as he settled back on his heels. Outside of his armor, he looked small, vulnerable, his mouth parted as he sought for words to give voice to- what? Pity?

Bethany looked away, her lower lip trembling before she firmed it and thrust out her jaw the way her sister had always done when she was cornered, drawing strength from the comparison until she remembered that she was as good as dead and sucking the life from the last good thing she had left, those memories, and forced herself to reach out a hand she dimly noticed had abrasions from the stone to take the hand he still held out to her, one more door she’d closed of her own volition.


	5. Chapter 5

His mouth was a slash across his face, thin and twisted in on itself. She wondered darkly if he had paused, when he first saw what had taken place, waited long moments before interrupting, but- no. That was uncharitable of her. Cullen had never given her reason for such thoughts, no more than most of the others had. Of course, she thought, one hand clutching at her stained and rumpled robes, that wasn't saying very much.

He was talking. "What?" He shifted his weight. Uncertainly? Surely not.

"Mistress Haw- Bethany," he said heavily. "Allow me to escort you back to your quarters. That was it. She didn't know what she had expected. Certainly not an apology. Not to a mage, not from a templar.

She nodded without thought, for that was what every mage with any sense in their head did when a templar bade them, and moved to settle at his side, slightly behind him, as was due his station. At her side, Sincerity heaved himself up from where he had lain himself down upon the stone. Beyond him, she was dimly aware of the templars moving about the room. This was, after all, the barracks. She was still in their space, a room where they had the utmost control, if it could indeed be said that that control did not extend to the whole of the gallows. The quailing of her heart settled into a steady thrum in her ears as she forced a smile, forced her feet to move towards the door, one in front of the other. Forced herself to put the click of claws from her mind. For once, she had some success, though that was due more to her escort than any strength of will on her part.

Cullen kept his silence as they walked, for which she was pathetically grateful. One word from him would have shattered the fragile grip she had on her control.

The walk back to her room seemed far longer than she would have thought, interminably long, but at length her door came into view, and with it came a growing apprehension.

It proved right, as Cullen turned to her when they stood before her open door, and at last broke his silence. "Mistress Bethany," he said stiltedly, opened his mouth and closed it again. "I- regret the actions of my men."

Bethany's eyes, which had dropped to the floor in hopes that this would be over quickly, flew up to his face. She stared.

He seemed to take it badly -or correctly- became he grew stiff, stood straighter. "They will be reprimanded," he said with far more assurance than he had before, and then he hesitated. "I- if I could, mistress Bethany," and here her own mouth twisted at the cruel irony of his showing her this small deference to, she supposed, her sister's success, "I should change the injustice given to you. It is cruel, far more than any deserve, much less-" another, briefer, hesitation, then, "but it is not within my power. I am sorry."

She thought of saying that he was the knight captain, Meredith's second-in-command, that he had her ear. She thought of saying a lot of things, these days, and gave voice to far fewer of them. She said nothing. Continued to say nothing when he at last seemed to give up and motioned her into her room.

Said nothing when the relative, pitiful safety of the threshold was between them. Neither, however, had he moved away, and it was with horror that she became aware of Sincerity tugging on her robes. "Oh no," she whispered, then louder, "Sir Cullen, I-" She twisted about to see him frozen in the door, his previous unreadable expression dropping away to one she thought may well have echoed her own. "Go!" She cried, jerking her head away so she would not shame herself by letting him see her tears or watch them fall when she begged. "Please. I can't- please. Don't."

For a small eternity, the length of five breaths, he said nothing, did nothing, and she shuddered around the weight of bitter tears she refused to let fall. Not now, not now. She had her pride, when she had nothing else, and she wrapped it about herself like the chainmail that had been stripped from her, as so much else had.

And then the moment ended.

 

 

 

There came the shuffling of receding footsteps, and the soft creak and thud of the door closing. She sagged with relief, bending down onto the brace of her elbows with a sob she could no longer hold back, one that roughened into a choked off heave of breath through her teeth when Sincerity heaved himself upon her back.

She was well used to his attentions by now, or so she told herself, but what she was not used to was the immediate tingling rush when Sincerity shoved inside her. Her mouth dropped open, all previous thoughts of self-pity and grief wiping themselves away. She gasped, fingers curving to claw at the stone as he withdrew, only to shove back in to the hilt, spreading her wide and gaping at the stretch and burn of it. Shivers ripped down her spine, pushed her back against Sincerity's cock, wringing out a low moan from her, all willing, and yet-

No time to follow that flicker of a thought, no time for anything but

Despite her every screaming thoughts revolting at the thought, her legs fell apart almost at once before him, and Sincerity growled into her ear a bare instant before his teeth closed around her neck. A moan ripped from her, long and loud and wanton, and she pushed back to meet his next thrust. She could feel his balls slap against her, and in this moment she couldn't help her reaction, her craving of more and more and more.

The air was filled with the wet sounds of their coupling. She was still slick with his cum from a few short minutes before, from her own arousal and need, and it spattered on her thighs every time he drew back. She was sure it coated her thighs all the way down. Wondered if the templars had felt that when they had taken her, if it had spurred them on, and when next Sincerity bottomed out inside her liquid heat boiled up in her belly and expanded out. Her hips stuttered back against Sincerity, working herself against him as her back bowed, a high, keening note dropping from the round of her mouth, and still Sincerity moved, wringing out helpless cries that left her shaking and tense as a bowstring.

Every shift of his cock within her made her wail, made her buck and plead, words falling from her mouth without notice or care. She didn't want to know what she said. Whatever it was, it marked the end. A few more short, sharp shoves of his hips and Sincerity stilled atop her.

 

 

 

She knew what came next, but still she couldn't help the rolling shudder that crept down her spine when she felt him grow larger within her. She was still sensitive, overly so, and it was barely more than a thought that brought her hand between her legs to brush against that spot that made her groan, made her drop her head against her bent arm. Large as he was, every dragging movement of his cock made her cry out, and with her fingers working against that bundle of nerves, she couldn't stop moving. Couldn't stop the babble of words that dropped from her lips with every roll of her hips.

It was but a few moments, this time, before Sincerity reached completion, and she groaned frustration when he pulled away, leaving her feeling empty and twitching with an unfulfilled need that brought her hand moving faster against herself. Was this what the chantry sisters had meant when they spoke of abusing yourself, she wondered vaguely, before all thought again swept away as she arched, thrust her ass in the air, moaned for need of sensation, of a cock, any cock, to fill her again before she came at last to shuddering release. It seemed to go on forever, endless shocks of electric heat that left behind a hollowness that yet weighed heavy. Weighed as much as, more, as a mabari, as her own shame.

Her hand fell away and she stared, unseeing, at the floor. So this was what all of her fears and dreams had come to. Her earlier tears would not come. In there place was a thin, distant noise in the back of her mind that she couldn't identify, that sounded almost like the tolling of the bells that announced a death.

Time passed unnoticed. How long, she wasn't sure, before she pushed herself to her feet and walked on unsteady legs to her bed. It was neatly made, as it always was, a warming pan beneath the blankets awaiting feet chilled by the ever present creeping cold of the gallows. Sincerity was already there, lying curled on the side of the bed furthest from the door, where she usually slept.

It was ridiculous, she would think later, when coherent thought returned to her, that it was this small, meaningless loss that made her weep.


	6. Chapter 6

It was some hours past the calling of the third bell before Bethany fell into a fitful sleep. She had no way of knowing how long it was past then that she was roused roughly from her bed by armored hands and yanked from her room before she truly had time to give voice to any of the dozens of slurred questions spinning through her mind. Dimly, she was aware of the click of Sincerity’s claws on the stone behind her, but that was hardly any comfort.

She tried again to speak to the templars, and they were templars she realized now, who held her captive thus, their armored hands cold and hard through the thin protection of her robes, but received no answer to her questions, and was forced to come up with her own, all worse than the last. Had she failed in satisfying Sincerity somehow? Had the templars somehow come to the decision that she was a blood mage? Either way, there was only one sure result, and she sagged in their arms, missing several steps, near lightheaded at the thought. Tranquil. They were taking her to be made tranquil.

Up and up and up they hauled her, further up the Gallows tower than she had ever gone before. She’d thought she would cry, but none came, at least not for herself. But, came the thought, unbidden, who else would it be for? A mother who had openly despaired of her being a mage, and was surely relieved that such a burden was gone, as was her right? A sister who had not once come to see her again? Who had, must have, forgotten her amid a string of new responsibilities? Her new family?

Who for?

Not herself. What was there to lose, except everything?

She did not try to speak to them again, not until they arrived at last at their destination, a tiny room near what she judged to be the top floor of the Gallows. The door opened before them to reveal a single font in the center of a bare room, surrounded by a small group of templars, none of whom held, she noticed, a brand. She went nearly weak with relief, until she noticed Cullen among them, and fear rose again in her breast. What was this about? She hardly knew she had said as much aloud, not until she saw Cullen tilt his head. “Why have I been brought here? I haven’t-” Her voice was thin, shaming her. She forced her head high and swallowed thickly, with a click as her throat bobbed around the knot that threatened to strangle her. “I haven’t done anything worth being treated like this!”

Cullen nodded. “Indeed you have not done anything to deserve punishment,” he told her. There was warmth in his tone, and perhaps sympathy, but that hardly registered when he gestured behind him at the font. “This is to be your harrowing, mistress Hawke. You have had ample time to prepare yourself, which is more than many apprentices receive. I do hope you-” He hesitated. “Prevail.”

He nodded once at one of the templars flanking him. “Ser Jax,” Cullen said, and the bottom dropped out of Bethany’s stomach, because she recognized him as the very same templar who had- had taken what he wanted from her just a night past. Or almost had, she remembered with a shiver. “I trust you to oversee this in my absence.”

His absence? Bethany’s head jerked towards him, tearing her eyes away from what awaited her with no small amount of trepidation. Didn’t he remember-?  
Cullen tried to smile at her, but it was stiff and forced. “This is an important occasion indeed, one that I or the knight commander would usually oversee ourselves, but duty directs me elsewhere. Ser Jax has assured me,” he added with a significant sideways glare that made the big man straighten, “that he shall be a perfect gentleman.” And that, she supposed, was that, as Cullen nodded to everyone present and swept out of the lone door leading out of the chamber, closing it with a heavy finality behind him.

 

 

 

Almost the second the door had closed behind Cullen the templars rearranged themselves, several moving to make a wall shielding Bethany from view of the doorway in case the knight commander came back, while the fourth templar, Ser Jax, came to stand before her.

She did her utmost to stand tall and unflinching before him, but her hands, of their own volition, tightened into shaking fists in the skirts of her robes, earning her a very, she thought, smug and oily smile. “You may trust us /mistress Hawke/,” he said, taking her by the arm in a none too gentle grip and leading her the fount.

Up close, it hardly seemed imposing, a simple fountain such as would be left outside for the use of birds, wrought all of metal and filled with a small depression of water. Ser Jax produced a philter of lyrium, and instructed her to “Drink it down as quick as you can, and look into the water. What comes next will determine your fate.”

Comforting. She almost said it, but held her tongue just in time. Having no other choice, and telling herself that she had indeed been fortunate to live as long as she had in the Gallows without facing this day, she did as she was told, took hold of the philter and drank deeply.

It was cold, far colder than the lyrium she was used too, and coughed on it, almost choking up a portion of it, but, mindful of the templars’ eyes on her, forced it down. She dropped it to the ground after from numb hands. Everything had grown heavy, and she had to be forcibly turned to look into the font. Once she did, the whole world narrowed down to a single point in the center of its pool until everything blurred and whited out at the edges.

Once he was satisfied that Bethany had fallen under the enchantment of the font Ser Jax helpfully bent her further over it until she was bent nearly in half. Once he had, he smoothed his hands up her legs, bunching her robe up in its wake. He smirked as he bared an expanse of tawny skin streaked through with pale arches and whorls, as he smoothed his hands over her ass, taking a deep pleasure in the twitch that rippled down her spine, how she was otherwise unresponsive. Leaning over her, he roughly grasped her breasts through her robe, weighing them and pinching them until he he heard a slow intake of breath, felt her shift against him. He grinned at the other templars as he fumbled at his armor, removing his codpiece. It clanked to the ground.

Bethany didn’t hear it, didn’t hear anything of the harrowing chamber or the gallows at all. If she heard laughter, it was her own, echoing around her in peals of delight before that, too, faded and she found herself standing on a rocky bluff surrounded by crags of rock that floated without care for gravity. She felt dizzied, unsure whether she was up or down or sideways, trembling all over with sensations that sought to pull her in a hundred different directions and which she had no idea were coming from Ser Jax spreading her wide and bottoming out inside her in one long thrust, to cheers and laughter that sounded like the howling of the wind, to Bethany.

She looked about her uncertainly. If this was the fade, it was unlike what she ordinarily saw, but she supposed a dreaming person only saw what their dreams held for them, regardless if they were a mage and knew them for what they were. Carver had never understood that. Had looked at her hollow eyes when she’d woken from nightmares as a child and had asked her-

but no.

He had asked her nothing, because nothing would help her now but what she brought with her.

Turning, she looked over her shoulder to see an identical stretch of ground behind her, a ribbon that rose up to meet the impossible sky. There was no way to tell where one ended and the other began save for that line. It twisted and bent as she watched, bringing lightheadedness and a tingling rush that followed (unbeknownst to Bethany, Ser Jax had gripped her by the throat, used it as leverage to take her hard and fast, his balls slapping against her cunt with every jerk of his hips) that made her clutch her arms to herself and shiver.

 

 

 

She started down one of the paths at random, figuring that there would be no difference, anyway. It was guarded by wisps. Easily spotted, easily dispatched, but it ate up valuable time, and she was on a time limit. She had only s few hours before they would slice her throat, whether she had been possessed in that time frame or not.

Time seemed to pass uncounted for her. Outside the fade, Ser Jax pushed off her after a final few thrusts and a satisfied grunt. He was still half hard, but he made way for the next templar, who had already shucked his codpiece and gloves and clapped Ser Jax on the shoulder with a laughing compliment about how well he’d used her before he settled between her legs. As did the third templar, in his time, and the fourth, who himself gave way to Ser Jax.

Within the Fade, Bethany gave her head a shake, dropping her hand from her temple with a grimace that played at a smile. “I’m sorry,” she told Mouse as politely as she could, with a genuine apology in her tone, “but I know a liar when I hear one. I do it every day.” Or I used to, she thought but didn’t say, tucking that close inside her chest where she held all those bright, shining things that had once been part of the everyday joys and sorrows of her life. And so she had. What else would one call assuring her family that she was happy, that she enjoyed her magic, the only gift she had left from her father? That she didn’t sometimes wish to be taken away, to spare them the inevitable pain she brought them every day?

Instead of growing angry, as she’d feared, the demon, and it was a demon, she could see that now, it had changed before her without seeming to change at all, merely laughed. The glittering points of its eyes in the ruin of its face flickered like distant stars. “As you say,” it said. “Though whether you have passed or failed, I cannot say. Would it be kinder to die now, knowing what is to come, or live it? In either case,” it said before she had time to even think of a reply, “I will walk with you, should you ever need my services. And,” it added as the fade started to grow faint, winking out even as stone and metal started to solidify beneath her, “that might be sooner than you think.”

Slowly, in stages, Bethany returned to full consciousness. Even partially aware as she was, she could feel hands moving across her body, gripped bruisingly tight on the swell of her hips as-

“Oh,” she moaned softly, twisting to arch against the font as she writhed beneath the templar pounding into her, her hands scraping across metal, splashing water with every cry eked out of her. There was ugly laughter. The templar slapped her ass, hard, laughed when she bucked back into him.

“Sincerity has his bitch well trained,” he grinned, leaned down to press her further against the font until she was bent in half once again and quickened the pace. “Wonder what kind of puppies you’ll make, Fereldan,” he said against her ear. “If your breasts will swell so I can’t hold them in my hands.” Laughed again when she hiccuped a sob and pulled back, withdrawing just far enough so that the head of his cock was just barely within her as he started to come with a series of grunts. She hadn’t felt anyone, felt Sincerity, come inside her so keenly, and whined as she felt pulses of warmth shoot deep inside her, making her press back against him without thought. This earned her more laughter and coarse comments, the templar moving back so that she couldn’t impale herself on him the way she desperately wanted, needed, so that she could feel the last few strings of his cum splash warm on her ass and dripping out of her cunt as he stepped back.

She barely had a moment to breathe before her hair was grabbed roughly and she was thrown down onto the ground before Sincerity, who was dancing in place impatiently. He yipped when he saw her spread before him, and dove at her.

 

 

 

She stiffened with a small scream, thinking he was going for her throat, but instead he settled between her legs and started lapping at the wetness there, the combined cum and her own slick that had dripped down her thighs and the crack of her ass. For a moment she was frozen still with shock, hands hovering in the air defensively before her face, until her head fell back with a groan that came straight from her toes. She couldn’t recall ever feeling this, and couldn’t seem to help the wild cries that were pulled straight out of her. Her hands fell at her sides to clutch at the ground spasmodically, seizing tight and releasing with each quick flick of his tongue inside the lip of her folds and up around her clit in teasing circles until she wailed.

When at last she was hauled over on her hands and knees she was shaking and crying out for release that wouldn’t come. She didn’t care anymore about the comments or the laughter or the presence of witnesses, all she wanted was to be filled, to be fucked, now, right now, and let out a low, wavering moan when Sincerity mounted her and pushed inside her. Slick with the cum of so many men, so many times, and Sincerity’s own slobber, he slid in easily until he was seated to the hilt. Bethany heaved for breath, started to push back into him at once, but Sincerity growled and gripped her tight with his forelegs in warning, nipping at her neck before he started to move.  
He seemed frustratingly slow. Usually he moved faster than this, or perhaps she had simply never been so needy, because it wasn’t enough, wasn’t fast enough. She’d started to whine before she could catch herself, making high, artless noises that started in her throat and shook their way through her until she was wrung tight as a dishcloth, as a harp string. Vibrating with need.

Something hot hit her cheek and pooled in the shadowed place where her shoulder met her neck. She looked up to see hands working over cocks. She opened her mouth readily at the barest touch of a hand to her jaw.

Couldn’t find it in herself to argue when one of them said the bitch liked being being fucked in front of a crowd because he was right, had always been right. Now, at least, in the heat of the moment, she could admit to such things, though she was sure –was positive– that she would be ashamed later. As it was, she was almost –more than– eager for the cock that was fed into her mouth, spearing her between it and Sincerity, Sincerity’s cock, and she moaned around it, earning another from the templar.

He gripped her up by the hair and started to fuck her mouth hard and fast. She could have sighed. This was what she’d needed, what she wanted, to be filled as much as she could, more, as Sincerity had at last started to speed up as he neared completion. Pinned as she was, she couldn’t move to meet Sincerity’s thrusts the way she wanted to, needed to, and she keened around the cock in her mouth with a desperate frustration that was met and matched by that of Sincerity’s need.

 

 

 

He pounded against and inside her hard enough to push her hard against the man’s cock and force it deeper into her mouth, until her face met the man’s hipbone. He wasn’t quite big enough to meet the back of her throat, but he was thick, thick enough that her jaw ached stretching around his girth.

He pushed leisurely in and out of her mouth with short, sharp thrusts, crooning praise. He called her beautiful, a word she was learning to place against herself the way his cock was placed between her lips, a way to get off and nothing more, if it ever had been.

As soon as his cock started to pulse in her mouth he shoved her off. Grabbed her face in an armored hand and sneered at her that this was all she was good for, all she’d ever been good for, but at least, he chuckled, she’d had to sense to realize it herself.

He came around behind her and watched Sincerity’s hips stutter as he neared completion, working his hand over his cock, faster and faster as Sincerity bore down atop her, forcing her top half down towards the ground. His teeth tightened around her neck, bright pinpricks of pain that felt so pretty in the heat of the moment that she couldn’t help her sighs, and then, too soon, he was coming. Once, twice, three times more he pushed inside her and then he was done, slumped atop her for the barest moment, heaving for breath.

She gasped as his engorged cock pulled free with an obscene pop, leaking cum after in a thin, milky stream that made her squirm, made her gasp when the templar knelt behind her, placing one hand between her shoulderblades and the other on her hip, and yanked her back onto him. They both moaned in unison when they came together. “Oh, fuck,” he moaned, “oh fuck, oh fuck,” again and again. Called her a whore, a beautiful whore, his hand tangled rough in her hair.

In this moment, she gloried in it, begged him to go faster. He told her to say please. “Say it pretty, whore. Ask me to fuck you. Beg me.”

And she did. Didn’t care, didn’t care, she needed it, more than she ever had. Arched into his next thrust and spread her legs wide for him, a strangled plea ripping free of her. “Please, please,” she cried out, “please fuck me.”

Silence and stillness answered her.

Bethany groaned, bucked back, hoping that the man, the templar, would have mercy, but he didn’t move. She dropped her head onto the floor between her arms with a sob, begged him again to fuck her, fuck her now, turned to see the templar gone stiff and, beyond him, knight captain Cullen, who stood in the doorway with her sister.


End file.
